


floppy ears.

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in the chaos of war, little things can spark a light in the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	floppy ears.

Juugo’s favourite animals were forest animals. He found that those, as opposed to the inhabitants of deserts, or jungles, or oceans, had a certain air of gentleness that calmed him, and he found their company to be soothing. He liked the little birds that landed on his shoulders, or on his hand, or on his lap when he sat; he liked the deer that rested beside him, and the little tree-dwellers that climbed down to offer him more company. And if he had to list a favourite (he’d list a  _few_ favourites, because picking just one was impossible) he’d be sure to include those select few that he enjoyed studying the most. 

He always found the hare to be admirable. It was a small creature, and people often overlooked it on the grounds that it looked as innocent as its size ought to suggest it was; but the hare, of course, honed skills that made it a considerably strong enemy in its field. And as he sat, staring at her, with her eyes on the pages of a book that looked as though she’d read it a dozen times before (and somehow, she still looked thoroughly pulled into it as though this was the first time), he decided that Hinata was very much like a hare. 

Juugo wasn’t a man of biased judgement. He saw what he saw, took it at face value and acknowledged skill and talent when he saw it. It was something he’d learned from Kimimaro, during their time together: a person’s skill wasn’t necessarily reflected on their face, or in their eyes, or in a way that was easily judged at face-value. And after a while of mulling over thoughts of what it meant to be  _truly_  strong,  _truly_  brave,  _truly_  a person to admire, he’d learned to admire raw skill for what it was. He’d seen her on the battlefield, with a furrowed brow and hands channelling chakra into formidable strength. He’d never quite seen someone so able to control chakra for non-medical uses as well as she was able to, and had his attention not been called elsewhere by Suigetsu’s nagging, he’d have stared and admired her some more.

She was strong. She had a strength in her fists that he was sure ran through the rest of her, and with purply hair a tangled mess behind her, she was a force to be reckoned with. But he’d seen  _strength_  before. Sasuke was strong. Suigetsu was strong. Karin was strong. Strength in all its physical manifestations was something he found himself surrounded by, and he, too, belonged to the category of people that possessed notably superior talent in that area. But what was strength if it couldn’t be honed? What was such a skill if it was unreignable?

And that was her  _true_  strength, in his eyes. She had  _control._  She was  _overflowing_ with control, from every movement, every glance, every breath; she was calm— eerily so, in a way that made him wonder whether she was made in part of some machinery or another— and she had the most  _superb_  command of the strength she possessed. For a moment, he was envious. He’d long since come to the understanding that his own state was temporary, that his actions were far from predictable, that he was a liability in a lot of ways to whomever decided to free him. He longed for the day when he was no longer wary of his own temperament. For a little while, he thought it to be impossible; after Kimimaro’s death, his anchor was gone. Sasuke provided him with a new goal, a new objective, a new reason for pushing forward— but it wasn’t the same, and Juugo was thoroughly convinced that he’d never find something or someone as positively influential as Kimimaro was.

And then he saw  _her,_  full of fierce resolve and confidence, fighting another day for those she cared for.  _She_  was what he wished he could become. Someone like her, someone that retained their strength until it was needed, and displayed it with the sort of pride and authority that  _made_  you look, that  _made_  you stay to watch and admire. 

"—would you like another cinnamon bun, Juugo-san?"

He started. Oh, was he—? “Forgive me,” he said, voice gentle. He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “Was I staring?”

Hinata smiled back, and opened the picnic basket between them after resting her novel down, and set a cinnamon bun— of her own making, of course— onto a fresh napkin for him. “Just a little. Is— is something wrong?”

"No," he replied, and he took the snack with genuine, quiet thanks. He never cared much for pastries, but he found himself enjoying these more than he thought he would. He looked over to her again and wondered how he’d ended up here, under a tree, having a perfectly normal picnic with her as though they’d been friends for years. Maybe, he realized, it was due in part to his earnest admiration for her talents that led him here. She certainly wasn’t born as calm and collected as she was, nor was she naturally so in battle; the strength he admired came from her own hard work, and he’d acknowledged that with a very serious thought to follow: maybe if he remained at her side for just a bit, he would come to understand how she did it. Maybe if he sat like this for longer, he would learn to do as she did. And maybe, then, he would be one step closer to becoming the person he wished to become. Not a monster: a person, a friend, a  _comrade—_ someone Kimimaro would be proud of, wherever he was looking down from. 

"You are a very kind person," he murmured, and he was only acutely aware of the way her cheeks reddened, and the way her eyes widened in surprise. She canted her head to the side, thought over his statement, and then laughed a dainty, happy laugh. It made him smile, too. 

"Thank you," she said, idly smoothing down the fabric of her pants. "Ah—… you, as well— you are also… a very kind person. And… I think that— that I’m very glad I was able to befriend you like this. War… it’s not pleasant, but sometimes even the most dire situations can spark the nicest, most unexpected things. Like friendships. Don’t you think?"

And she smiled again, looking up at him with a doe-like gentleness that made him look down at his hands in a fit of sudden, unusual bashfulness. 

"Yes," he said, smiling to himself. It wasn’t a wasted afternoon after all. "I do believe you’re right."  

 


End file.
